Soar
by Katrinea
Summary: "He couldn't even bring himself to hate them, because in the end the choice was always Desmond's. His eyes had shone with all the unsaid things that passed between them in the night, and he had understood. And he had hated him." Shaun's POV. Set directly after the events of the AC3 ending. Super angsty, with just a sprinkling of hope. [Warning for HUGE ENDING SPOILERS.]


'_And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.  
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.'_

'_The birds are the keepers of our secret.'_

He couldn't even bring himself to hate them: Juno, the First Civilization, the Capitoline Triad, the Templars, Abstergo… they were all just the agents of chaos, the schemers of time and space. Nor could he stand to blame fate, the unbreakable red thread which ran through the blood of the assassin's ancestors, binding their destinies together.

It had always been about _him_.

The world moved for him. The fates aligned the course of history for him. Time and space had been manipulated just so in order to lead to this exact situation, to put him here in the Grand Temple, to decide the fate of the world. But he could not bring himself to hate those who had done this anymore than he could hate the sun for throwing off its deadly flares.

Because in the end the choice was always Desmond's.

He had turned to look at him with those infinite brown eyes one last time and he had turned his back on him to step forever into that abyss of light. His eyes had shone with all the unsaid things that passed between them in the night, and he had understood. And he had hated him. For he loved him and now it felt like somebody had ripped out his lungs on a cruel whim. His blood still circulated but he couldn't breathe anymore. His reason was gone. They had saved the world, but his had perished in the process. For the only reason he had to keep living had died so a world he no longer cared about could survive.

They knew. They never said anything but he knew they knew. And Rebecca sobbed harder for the sake of his unshed tears as he held her tight in the aftermath of the shockwave that took his life. William squeezed his shoulder and he turned from him. It was wrong. The man with his lover's dark eyes should not have been the one consoling him. He was the father of the sacrificial son. Desmond was Isaac, not spared by God but burnt upon the mountain. He was Christ, willingly punished for the sins of an undeserving world.

_For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life…_

The world would never know what Desmond had done. It would never love him. But he always would. And he would never forget, and he would never stop believing. But he did not desire eternal life, not in this world. Not alone.

And for what? What reason had destroyed this world? One apocalypse had been averted, but at what cost beyond his own loss? The release of Juno would bring only further suffering to this empty world. Whatever she had planned could not bode well. He had seen the emails she had sent, her hatred for humanity. And Desmond was the most hated of all, because he was so special. So full of light and life. But now he was beyond the pale and she could hurt him no longer.

They would fight on, the last of the assassins. Because that was all they had left. Because that is what he would have done. Even if nobody knew, even if it all proved pointless in the end. They would fight. For death, for Desmond.

He flexed his fingers gently against the cloth of Rebecca's back as he slept curled into him. She had fallen asleep a while ago, tear tracks still shining on her cheeks in the half darkness of a night lit by artificial lights. He shut his eyes and held her close, breathing in her scent. Despite the way they fought he loved Rebecca like a sister, and on this endless night grief made true siblings of them.

He stood cautiously as he softly slipped her from his grasp, lying her down upon the makeshift bed in the back of the van. They had been driving on through the night in shifts, heading towards a destination known only to William. He was at the wheel now and had been for the last few hours as his remaining comrades had attempted to sleep. But now they had stopped to refuel and the insomniac historian needed air.

He covered Rebecca with a colourful striped blanket and tried not to remember that it had once been one of Desmond's favourites.

Outside it was cold; a sharp winter wind sweeping across whichever state it was that they happened to be in currently. He did not know, nor did he much care. He stepped out of the van as William began refuelling, the elder man casting him a sharp glance as he stretched out legs aching from inaction.

He could not bring himself to return a glance at the last remaining Miles, for he looked so like his son, now more than ever. The lines of age upon his face reflected a future that would never come to pass for Desmond. He wondered if that future would ever have happened for the two of them, if they ever would have been allowed to grow old together. It was a foolish hope. For if not here then sometime soon one, if not both, of them would have died long before their time, or the two be otherwise separated by loss. It was the way of the Brotherhood, life and relationship expectancy was not one of their strong suits.

He moved away from William, wandering off from the gas station. Away from the ignorance of the everyday folk who had no idea what their continued survival had cost. The fuel stop lay at the base of a small hill which seemed to drop away at the summit. He smelt the bitter tang of sea and the incoming dawn. The light was beginning to change and he wondered just how long they had been driving for.

On a sudden urge he climbed the hill, never once looking back. He could taste salt on his lips and it stung in the cracks, the small pain breaking him down inside. He remembered a pair of thick lips slashed by a single line and bitterly regretted that he never had found out how that scar had come into being. As he approached the summit the world grew brighter. The pressure on his lungs increased.

The peak arrived unexpectedly. He suddenly found himself standing at the top of the hill, looking out over the sky of the world. There he found the sea, a rickety old barrier the only thing separating him from the sheer drop down into the salt water.

His hands tightened on the guardrail. He shut his eyes. He imagined falling into that water, letting it all go in the leap of faith. He tasted the salt on his tongue and felt the cold in his bones. He felt his hair and clothes plastered wet against his skin, his glasses shatter from the impact and drift down into the depths. He felt his lungs fill with fluid and blackness take his vision. And in the void he saw Desmond.

He was always there for him, a determined light flickering in the darkness.

His eyes slipped open with a sigh. The sun broke the line of the horizon. The light that nearly killed them all coming forth to banish the darkness. He remembered watching many a morning sun rising over the villa in Monteriggioni. He sat on the cracked and broken roof, his fingers entwined with another calloused hand, a head resting upon his shoulder, the silence broken only by their hearts beating in time. The new sun rose above him. The heartbeats faded and he realised that it was the first of many sunrises he would be watching alone.

But then a small hand slipped into his. And he was still there standing upon the brink of the dawn, but he was not alone. Rebecca was there, blinking sleepily in the sunlight which crept over the horizon. She was still wrapped in Desmond's blanket, enveloped in his bold colours. A strong hand rested on his shoulder and William was there too. His palm warm and heavy as it lightly squeezed his shoulder.

And Desmond was there, in William's eyes and in Shaun's heart. Far off out to sea a single solitary bird flew out across the face of the sun, its dark silhouette large enough to be an eagle. Suddenly his throat felt tight, but somehow he could breathe again. And as he exhaled soft, silent tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

The Second Disaster had been averted, the cycle of misinterpretation and corruption had been broken, the repeating history of war and conflict shattered. The three assassins stood there on the brink and witnessed the dawn of a new world. And they would fight for it even fiercer than before, they would protect it with every breath in their bodies, because it was Desmond's world. This sky was created by him, his last gift to them.

_"You know it's true. It's already started. I need to do this now. So go! GO!"_

And for the longest time they stood there, just watching that eagle soar.


End file.
